Mr. Smith took Pamela’s arm and followed Mr. Westbrooke and Lottie, ending up in the positions right next to them. It was a lively dance, and Pamela enjoyed it very much. What she didn’t enjoy was how Mr. Smith studied her, like she was a bug under a magnifying glass.
Because of the type of dance it was, they did not have the opportunity to speak, which was fine with her. She just allowed herself to enjoy the music, the fine atmosphere and dancing once again. How much she enjoyed the social life that she was not destined to delight in.
All too soon the number ended, and Mr. Smith took her by the arm. “I believe a beverage would be nice right about now.”
Pamela found herself being led away from her friends and toward the refreshment table. So far, she hadn’t said very much to Mr. Smith, so he probably had no idea that she would either annoy or embarrass him if he tried to have a normal conversation with her.
Mr. Smith handed her a glass of lemonade. She took a sip, hoping he wouldn’t try to begin a conversation.
“Do you live with your family here in Bath, Lady Pamela?”
“No. I l-live in a b-boarding house.” There that should dim any interest he had in her. She couldn’t even say a complete sentence without bumbling it up.
“Ah, the stalwart safety of young, single ladies.” He smiled at her and a strange tingling started in her stomach. Hadn’t he listened to her? Didn’t he sense her lack of poise?
“I assume you haven’t been to many events here? I know if I’d seen you before tonight, I would certainly have remembered you.”
She shook her head. “N-n-no. I don’t g-go out much.”
She was confused. Why was he continuing to talk to her? Didn’t he hear her?
He took the empty glass from her hand just as the master of ceremonies announced a waltz. “Lady Pamela, I would be pleased if you would honor me with a waltz.”
She would love to waltz—it had been so long—and since this was most likely her only time visiting the Assembly Rooms, she nodded. “Y-y-es.”
He took her by the hand, linking their fingers, and led her to the center of the dance floor. For some reason, holding his hand seemed more intimate than resting her hand on his arm. Before she could ponder that, he swung her into his arms, and they began the dance.
“May I call on you sometime?” His eyes bore into her, almost as if he was willing her to say yes. They passed another couple and he pulled her a bit closer.
Now it was time to end this. So far, she’d felt like Cinderella, but like that fairy tale, midnight was approaching for her and she would soon return to her real life. Where she didn’t have to talk too much but could teach her students and express herself through her playing and singing.
“I d-don’t think that is a good idea, Mr. Smith.”
“May I ask why not?” He looked genuinely confused, which confused her further. No gentleman she had ever spoken to or danced with had indicated an interest in courting her. What was wrong with this man?
“B-b-because I am b-b-busy.”
“So am I, but I would make time for you. I would like to take you to the theater, or to dinner.”
She almost wanted to cry. He sounded so sincere, but in a very short time he would grow frustrated and annoyed with her constant stumbling to express herself. She could not take another rejection because of her affliction.
The music ended and he took her arm once more. “Let’s take a stroll.”
Before they moved more than a few steps, two gentlemen approached them. “Say, Nick. What brings you here on a Saturday night? Who’s watching the club?” The man who spoke was a middle-aged man with scant white hair on his head and full muttonchops. His stomach preceded him, and he had the red-flushed face of a drinker.
“A man has to have a night off once in a while. I have plenty of employees who know the club as well as I do.” Mr. Smith didn’t seem to want to continue the conversation, but the second man nodded toward Pamela and raised his brows at Mr. Smith.
He was a shorter gentleman, about Pamela’s age. He had a way of looking at her that she found daunting. So much so, that she edged closer to Mr. Smith, who turned to Pamela. “Lady Pamela, may I introduce you to Mr. Fenmore and Mr. Davis. Gentlemen this is Lady Pamela Manning.”
Both men smiled in her direction, and she merely smiled back and said nothing.
“Smith, if this is the reason you’ve abandoned your post tonight, I can’t say as I blame you,” the unnerving Mr. Davis said. “Lady Pamela, may I request a dance?”
The muscles in Mr. Smith’s arm where Pamela rested her hand tightened. He didn’t exactly scowl, but it was obviou
s, at least to her, that he was not pleased by Mr. Davis’s request. Since Pamela was not comfortable with any of the men, deathly afraid she would have to converse with them, she said, “Th-thank you very m-m-uch, but I feel I must f-f-find the ladies retiring r-r-room now.”
Before any of the three could say anything, she turned and headed toward the entrance where she hoped the ladies retiring room was. It took her a few twists and turns but she finally found the room and stayed there for some time.